


Stuck Like Glue

by DeltaRaeRunAway



Category: Dancing with the Stars (US) RPF, Figure Skating RPF
Genre: (Maks is a teddy bear), (Meryl wears the pants), Anthropology major Meryl, Coy Meryl, Experimentation, F/M, Precious Maks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaRaeRunAway/pseuds/DeltaRaeRunAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think we need to analyze your compulsive need to always be the tough guy.”</p><p>Meryl thinks Maks has a problem with suspending his role as the upper hand. He sets out to prove her wrong. Reverse psychology at its finest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I started this before the finals and finished after they won. (Um, spoiler alert...?)

**********************

“I think we need to analyze your compulsive need to always be the tough guy.”

 

“I, correlatively, think we need to do a killer rumba. And what do you mean?” There goes Maks, feigning innocence, playing the child who needs everything spelled out for him.

 

“You know.” She smiled coyly.

 

 _Coy_. There was a word for Meryl that had been tossed around more than once as of late. If anybody had used it to describe her before DWTS nobody would buy the adjective as applying to her, Team USA’s ice dance darling, and figure skating fans would be uproarious. Now nobody could deny a certain edge to Meryl, which she’d never really let on in her seventeen years in the spotlight with Charlie. She was, decidedly, _coy_. Or she could be, at least, particularly when Maks was the company she kept.

 

“No,” he deadpanned, “I really don’t. Please, baby, enlighten me.”

 

She gave in, but not without putting on her best impression of her Russian partner, deep voice and heavy accent included. “Don’t even try to give me pep talks. I give _you_ pep talks. You can’t pet me, well, you _can_ , but…you shouldn’t.”

 

“So? Is it a crime to dislike your _very public_ displays of affection?”

 

“It’s not that and you know it. You seem to have _no problem_ showing off your feelings for me on live television, it’s the fact that I try to reciprocate and you don’t have the upper hand.”

 

Changing the direction of the spat entirely, he folded his arms across his chest. “You called me a teddy bear.”

 

She giggled. “That’s exactly what I mean. Your whole thing is about being stoic and dominant but you act just like a kid sometimes! Lips in a pout…it’s not very becoming, Maksim. Let’s not _kid_ ourselves.” She paused here for laughter, and it’s only fair to mention that she’s running on four hours of sleep. “You throw tantrums and go crying to Mama when the need arises.”

 

“I don’t appreciate this analysis thing, for the record.”

 

“For the record,” she pressed, “you are in total denial. I’m just trying to be a friend.” She grinned sweetly; menacingly.

 

“I don’t want you to be a friend,” He said suggestively; slyly. The tactic worked, eliciting a blush from her that she tried to play off as exhilaration. Smug and strangely pleased with her reaction, Maks struggled to return to the bone he was picking with her.

 

“And what’s wrong with loving my mother? I have a lot of respect for her. She had to squeeze a handful of babies out of her and then raise them, and I don’t know if you’re familiar with my brother Val, but...”

 

“No, you love your mom, and that’s great, but you’re also a total mama’s boy when it comes to any sort of test of independence.”

 

“I don’t see the point of this,” he interjected bluntly. “We can talk therapy all you want over the phone, but we can’t rumba that way, too.”

 

“Hear me out. This’ll be good. For us.”

 

Maks let out a heavy sigh but kept his mouth shut, allowing her to take the reigns.

 

“There’s no shame in showing some dependency.” A simple statement, but one that he immediately felt the need to counter.

 

“You are a damsel, right? So that makes me the hero, the dude in charge of keeping your life.”

 

“You’ve got some pretty skewed versions of fairy tales there, buddy. I may be a ‘damsel’, but I’m _not_ in distress.”

 

His head hung down. “It’s nice.”

 

“Sorry, what was that?”

 

He repeated himself, less muffled and more assuredly. “It’s nice. I like taking care of you.”

 

Softer, she spoke again. “And I like being taken care of, but you do have an obsession, you realize this, yes?”

 

“I still disagree, and you can’t change my mind. It’s a matter of nature, and I happen to like the way our roles are now.”

 

“OK, new approach: gender roles in the new country.”

 

“You making fun of me?”

 

“Never!”

 

“Go on then.”

 

“Let’s look at it in the language of ballroom. Actually, ice dance, too. The guy does all the lifting, the leading. It isn’t like that in the real world, though.”

 

“I don’t have a problem. Really it’s just I’m uncomfortable with your touchy-feely consolations.”

 

“If you’re so sure, then, why don’t we try something?” There was a wicked glint in her eye. Oh yes, definitely _coy_.

 

“I’ll be the teacher today,” she continued. “You get to be the star, and must listen to me.”

 

“Fine.” He threw his hands up in the air, in defeat. “Take time away from our precious rehearsal to do a silly little game. By all means.”

 

“Thank you, I will,” she retorted.

 

“Missing the point…” he muttered, but straightened up when she gave him a look indicating she’d heard what he said and if he knew what was good for him, he’d wise up and shut up in the future.

 

* * *

 

 

“No, no, and absolutely no.”

 

“Do you understand the concept of rules, Maks?”

 

“I don’t even care anymore. This is my dance that I choreographed and you are not supposed to change it willy-nilly!”

 

“Right. No problem with control. At all. Moving on.” He hated when her points reached fruition. Maybe he did have a slight personality bobble?

 

Meryl had, in fact, moved on, but he stopped her in her tracks. “OK, fine,” he relented, “but if I admit I prefer the authority, can we go back to my ways of supreme dictatorship?”

 

“You slay me. But no, while I have command, I want to take a crack at one more thing.”

 

“Please, to _God_ , tell me it’s my skull so we can be done with this conversation.”

 

“Patience, patience,” she clucked, waggling a finger in front of his face. And then, abruptly, she removed her finger and leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips, but instinctively, he met her halfway. She pulled back.

 

“See? You can’t even let me initiate something as simple as a _kiss_.”

 

“I could if I wanted to.”

 

“Well, want to, because I’ve got a hypothesis that begs for some experimentation. Don’t move if you like staying on a schedule.”

 

“Who really has the controlling complex now? I’m starting to wonder that this is a twisted affair of your own lechery.”

 

“Your big words are no match for the scientific method.”

 

“I can think of something else that the same adjective applies to that might change your mind—“

 

“There we go, stalling again! Frankly, I’m impressed nobody’s called you on this before.”

 

“Everybody was afraid of me,” he muttered resentfully, “until you.”

 

Pregnant pause. She swallowed, distractingly close to his face like she could _stare right through his eyes and into his soul_. “That certainly took a turn,” she noted.

 

“For the worse?”

 

“Never.” Smiling, she restated her intentions. (He’d been hoping that his little display of vulnerability would convince her to drop them, but no such luck.) “Look, I think we’re getting somewhere.”

 

He bit his lower lip to stop another sarcastic retaliation from coming out. Her way of thanking him, apparently, for this desistance was to _literally put him on the brink_.

 

Reaching out tenderly, she used the pads of her fingers to trace the outline of his lips. Instinctively he bit down, and then cursed, backing away. He hated when Meryl saw him as anything rough. Wait…what?

 

To her surprise, he looked triumphant. “You see? I’m so comfortable with not being the tough guy that I feel compelled to shrink away so you don’t think of me that way. Let’s not even do this—“

 

“Mmm, not so fast,” she reasoned, “with me when the cameras aren’t rolling,” (she gazed pointedly at the ‘X’ of tape on the floor that marked the absence of such devices), “you’re a totally different person, although still, even if you can admit your so-called weakness, you still hate it. And I really think you’re going to like what I want to do…” Her feathery voice trailed off, and he had an overwhelming urge to glance at the clock. It _would_ be in his best interest to shut up and let her play assessor…OK, how could she not see how whipped he actually was? And why was this that big a deal, anyway? His head was spinning, and she capitalized on the opportunity.

 

When he’d been silent for more a few beats of the heart, she spoke. “You just stand there. I’m going to kiss you and you don’t get to initiate anything. _No concessions_ ,” she added sternly upon seeing the indignation written on his face.

 

Another moment passed wordlessly. “You have to do what you have to do.”

 

And with that, she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders (a vertical stretch for Meryl, standing tall for her sport at a solid 5’3”) and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, placed her lips on his. Then and only then did she allow him a semblance of control, granting him access to the cavern of her mouth.

 

What could Maks say? Meryl had undoubtedly sent him on his way. A total reform, actually, was in the making. This season was, after all, dedicated to him smoothing the rough around his edges.

 

What better way than to adhere? It didn’t have to be so revolutionary, just a role reversal, like she’d said.

 

And he remained adhered to her and her ‘silly games’ all throughout the week, trailing her like a lost puppy, and rewarded every night with the chance to exhibit his precious dominance.

 

[Meryl figured it best not to tell him that this exact word, _precious_ , was how she liked to label him to her friends. It would kind of negate the whole ‘adherence’ thing.]

 

 

 


	2. There You Go Pulling Me (Right Back In)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Mm, we’ll have to have our own Disney night after we win the show,' she noted, and all of the sudden, Maks thought he’d give Disney a try after all."

* * *

 

 

Their touch-and-go experiment of week eight had evolved into something of a study, though certainly one far from clinical.

 

[Being professional athletes, the two didn’t know much about rigorous studies, but they figured participants involved usually weren’t asked to reign in their willpower as foreplay to locking lips.]

 

Deride as he did her affinity for the recreation she’d come up with, Maks couldn’t deny the immense enjoyment he got from their now daily trials.

 

“Just go with it,” she’d giggle, and who was he to disobey her command? Truth be told, she was more the star of the Meryl & Maks show than he was, and compared to the fair ice dancer in front of him, he was nothing but a sordid dancer from Russia.

 

Had he been watching closely enough, Maks would have been able to physically see the total swapping of roles between them. They though they’d had their work ethic established pretty much from day one, but after she dared him to switch things up, it became very obvious very fast that there were so many layers left unpeeled.

 

After the first week (and oh, how it had paid off when Monday night came around) Maks had without a doubt grasped the illation that Meryl had been hinting at, but this didn’t eventuate until a fair amount of manipulation had been exercised.

 

“Do I have to pin you down?”

 

They were on a well-deserved lunch break, and instead of trading trash talk with Charlie and Sharna by the craft services table, Meryl had innocently enough cajoled Maks into taking their food back into the rehearsal studio (sans cameras). He was highly suspect, but the devious twinkle to her eyes convinced him to indulge her.

 

Sure enough, as he started to say something about, ‘is it cold in here?’ he heard the slam of a shut door and the twist of Meryl locking it.

 

She sidled up to him, and gingerly took the plate of food from his hands and placed it down atop the music system. “What was that?”

 

“Uh…” He babbled absentmindedly while she, the perpetrator of this all, had the audacity to laugh at his puzzlement.

 

The next words out of her mouth did nothing to alleviate this confusion. “Hey, do you remember the last time you took a science course with labs?”

 

“Maybe—eleventh grade physics?”

“Well, you know how precise _and_ accurate I like to be, and while we tested out an interesting thesis yesterday, I think we can both recall learning that in order to get the most precise and accurate results, you have to run tests repeatedly until satisfied…”

 

“I see where you’re going, and I think Einstein would be proud,” he imparted, his breath hot against her ear. Caught up in the name of science, Maks moved to sweep her hair to one side of her neck so he could have his way, but she pulled back.

 

“You bring me in here, lock the door, lead me on and hang me out to dry?” He was incredulous.

 

“The rules are you have to redo the exact same procedures, Maks!” She said exasperatedly. Like he was really thinking about scientific procedures right now, of all things. “Now, don’t make me pin you down.”

 

Suddenly, his vocal chords were tied.

 

“I said,” she all but growled, “do I have to pin you down?”

 

If his masculinity wasn’t already compromised, he squeaked. Squeaked!

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Was she trying to kill him in an attempt to throw the competition? If so, whatever the plan, it was working. He managed a non sequitur.

 

“Babe, your mouth is like a sailor’s.”

 

She smirked. Smirked! “It’s a reference to The Lion King, you loser!”

 

“Sorry I don’t have time to watch princesses find their true love!” He defended, the slightest bit offended by her name-calling.

 

“Mm, we’ll have to have our own Disney night after we win the show,” she noted, and all of the sudden, Maks thought he’d give Disney a try after all.

 

“You win,” he stated simply, presuming there would be plenty of time to discuss enchanted palaces after the fact. “What were you saying about the king of lions?”

 

“Oh.” Meryl had also apparently gone off track, but that didn’t faze her for more than a second. In one foul swoop, pouncing like a lion cub eager to hunt in his father’s footsteps, she sprawled out on top of his body; strong arms indeed pinned by her never-let-you-go grip to the hardwood floor.

 

“This some new choreography you wanted to try out? All you had to do was say so…” he teased her, if only to make more normal the situation he’d found himself in. Honestly, he was more than a bit taken aback with the utter lack of control, but that was her theory, right? The worst thing would be to prove her point for her, so he made small talk instead. She wasn’t having any of it, though.

 

“Can you keep your mouth shut—ever?” The affair was quickly spiraling down from seductive to uninviting, and Maks swallowed his pride. Two could play at this game, Meryl.

 

“Is that a challenge?”  
  
“Well, it does add another independent variable…” Her voice trailed off as she genuinely thought over the prospect, biting her lower lip and driving him positively wild in the process.

 

“Screw science,” he offered, eyes questioning as though this was meant to be helpful. And it was settled.

 

She tentatively let go of his hands, pleased when they remained in their errant position. Satisfied that he was going to follow the rules this time around, she pressed all of her weight to him, and angled herself so that their legs were a perfect one-two-one-two and her face buried in the crook of his neck. The silence, the stillness, was startling, and Maks’ diffidence sprouted like weeds, but she knew, as she always did, just the right amount of time to keep him in check.

 

Meryl lifted her head up again, and all at once her nose was adjacent to his, and their eyelashes so close that they could flutter one another’s (don’t worry, they tested this to make it tried and true).

 

She kissed around his lips—on the dimples that bordered his smile and curved above his upper lip (much as he tried to deny the former’s existence. “Dimples, kitten, are not _assertive_.” “What. The Hell. Does that even mean? And _don’t_ call me that!” “You got it, hamster.” “Maks. Pet names are not literally _the names of pets_.” “…I see. America is full of false advertising. You should get that checked out.”)

 

Tired of the narrow misses, Maks omitted a low grunting noise and she took this, and rightfully so, as a guideline to plant her lips starkly on his. His eyes snapped shut, reacting to Meryl’s presence but also to the sensations that played within him thanks to _her_.

 

As if reading his mind, she broke the kiss and rested her cheek against the expanse of his chest. “You know you love me.”

 

“You, I love. Your games, I could do without.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put in the whole "Lion King" bit the first time around and I got kind of hooked on the idea, so instead of editing it in this happened. Why not? :)


	3. You Do That Thing That Makes Me Laugh (And Just Like That)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When control wasn’t his priority, he remembered why he loved to dance, why he loved her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is the last installment to this story. I'm quite fond of the first few chapters, and can only hope that it's comprehensible after that. Enjoy!

* * *

 

“I’m proud of you, you know,” she informed him, lacing their hands together and shuddering when he, in turn, ran his thumb up and down her knuckles where he could reach.

 

Lately they’d been needing verbal sanction less and less. They had settled into a cozy rhythm of silent sycophancies and unspoken conversations. The rare times they did choose to call upon words, it only took an act of murmured reassurance or faint encouragement to fulfill the quota of communication.

 

Their bodies were so in sync, uncanny doesn’t do it justice. His eyes could be shut and still his lips would find their way to hers. He could roam her expanses blindfolded, without a map, and still manage to chart everything that had the privilege of being a part of her.

 

He was distracted, and his hesitation to respond gave this away. She was gazing at him so intently, her irises piercing and lucid, but was there any other setting for them? Fixated on this riddle, it took her a few repetitions of his name to redirect his focus.

 

“Is that another Lion King reference? Because I’ve been brushing up on my Disney—no thanks to you—and since I can’t stomach all the morals and poor attempts at personification, also on my knowledge of big cats. What?” He said defensively when she shot him a weary look.

 

“Maks, I didn’t lend you my beloved DVDs so you could scoff at them, _playing as background noise_ , while you searched the web for the correct term for a group of lions!”

 

“It’s ‘pride’, by the way, if you didn’t get the joke. Didn’t you?” Cheeky. She didn’t display disapproval and he continued to push his luck. “I’m no good at social cues, baby, you know that.”

 

“Lies, all of it lies,” she replied confidently. “You are the most deceptively perceptive person I’ve ever met.”

 

“I don’t even know what half those words mean,” came his retort. Mature, and just another untruth in Meryl’s observant eyes.

 

“You catch onto everything and then play it down like you don’t ever know what’s going on. It’s totally how you get away with saying whatever’s on your mind.” She was, apparently, not sparing anything, including his feelings (but wasn’t that the instigator in the first place—Maks’ convoluted feelings?)

 

“Hey! I own up to that, and you’re welcome for defending your sickled feet, by the way.”

 

“Nope. Not the same thing. I mean when you want to, oh, I don’t know, _weasel_ your way out of something…” she paused to give him a pointed look “...you play dumb. And here I thought Charlie was my puppy partner.” She shook her head in mock dejection.

 

“First I’m a teddy bear and now I’ve been demoted to dog? And you try to tell me pet names aren’t animals. I’m starting to think it’s you with the upper hand struggles.”

 

“Exhibit A!” [OK, he knew from prior experience that females were an intricate order, but the more he protested, the more gleeful she became, and he didn’t know how to take this.] Upon seeing the puzzled expression on his face, she elaborated, “You know exactly what I’m accusing you of and you’re acting all innocent and turning the focus to me.”

 

“Maybe I find you to be an interesting topic.”

 

“Cunning, but flattery will get you nowhere, Maksim.”

 

“Damn. How am I supposed to win this one, then?”

 

“Don’t you know anything? You aren’t _allowed_ to win. Welcome to a heterosexual relationship.”

 

“I didn’t sign up for this,” he reminded her.

 

She just shrugged, indifferently. “Nor did I.”

 

The two were silent for a moment. Again, Maks was perplexed. Were they in a fight, or…? He didn’t understand the status they held at the moment, but one thing stuck in his mind like glue, irritating and itching to be vindicated.

 

In the back of his mind, he sensed impending discord, but apparently having learned nothing during the past week he felt inclined to say, “Wait, who are you to tell me what I do?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Have you learned nothing?” There it was. “Because it’s OK, for the millionth time, to let somebody else lead.”

 

Suddenly, she leaped up from her comfortable coil. He muttered something along the lines of, ‘feline agility but tells me she can’t be a cat’ and she ignores it, so preoccupied with her invigorating idea—a way to get through to Maks, finally.

 

Meryl has, since week one, been able to speak with Maks on an entirely new level from what anyone has seen on the show before, but with this she was shocked she hadn’t come up with any sooner.

 

“Hold my hand.”

 

Cautiously extending his hand, Maks felt himself tugged up into a standing position. ‘Don’t be fooled,’ he made a mental note to himself, ‘she may be the dwarf to my giant, but the woman can _lift_.’

 

She tilted his chin up, forcing their eyes to lock and not once breaking the gaze as she took his hands and firmly planted them on either side of her waist. Her arms, she rested atop his shoulder so that the limbs dangled a bit and she could latch her hands together around the back of his neck.

 

“Baby, why are we waltzing? This is jive practice time, we’ll get to the waltz later in the week.”

 

Not indulging him, she maintained a tight-lipped smile and continued to lead him in a simple, basic waltz step. The clacking of her ballet flats against the ballroom floor kept the one-two-three rhythm for them, and he was able to close his eyes and finally, _finally_ he saw what she meant. When control wasn’t his priority, he remembered why he loved to dance, why he loved her. Behind the lids of his eyes he watched fireworks burst and then dissipate, trailing embers swaying as they fizzled. His remaining senses were heightened—suddenly he was acutely aware of the perfume she was wearing, just for him, even though all they would do to spend that day was rehearse in an athletic space. He realized how soft her skin was, and wondered for a moment whether or not she was the kind of girl to moisturize on a schedule or as time permitted. He assumed the former, because short as she was on time, he’d seen her calendar, and Meryl had everything penciled in down to which days she’d wash her hair in the shower (every other). He listened to the strong pulse of her heartbeat as his own struggled to catch up to his racing mind. It was overwhelming, but overwhelmingly good, and the climax came in a flash of colors and then she peeled his eyes open, leaning over him in concern.

 

“Too much?”

 

“No,” he breathed, “just right.”

 

And as she walked across the room to grab her water bottle, he could’ve sworn he heard her mumble, ‘Goldilocks’, but she attributed it to dance-induced delirium.

 

* * *

  

“Can I come in?” She’d been wondering who would knock on her rehearsal studio door twenty-five minutes to midnight, and was pleasantly surprised that it was…her partner?

 

“The audacity!” She pretended to be indignant.

 

“No big words, please.” His voice carried into the room cool as ever. Meryl heard the slow creak of a door handle.

 

“Yes, Maks, come in.” She sashayed over to stand on her tiptoes and hug him. He allowed himself a look at her beautiful smile but she pouted at the attention. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

 

Instinctively, he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Don’t be seducing me now. You told me you were going home an hour ago.”

 

“The same lie that you told to me,” she reminded him.

 

“Yeah, but it’s my job to choreograph the hell out of these dances, and yours to go to sleep and get your beauty rest.”

 

“Your princess innuendos are enchanting, by the way.”

 

“Don’t push it. And if I may… go home, for the love of God!” he demanded after she gave him a nod of encouragement. She laughed, arms folded across her chest, refusing to budge.

 

“You, too. On an unrelated but totally related note, you know we’re going to win this whole thing, right?”

 

“And you know why? Because your knucklehead partner will have worked his ass off to choreograph the winning routines. If you insist, I will go by—oh—twelve-thirty. Cross my heart and hope to die. But since you’re here and so am I…”

 

“Who’s seducing who, exactly?”

 

“No, no, not that. I’m much too exhausted and you’re much too pretty for me to clearly see right now. I have something for you.”

 

“Oh? I’m intrigued. Do share!”

 

Maks stepped back outside of the room (she was a little flustered to discern that they had just had their discussion with the door ajar, and other couples were surely still rehearsing, having the luxury of flexible hours and whatnot) and returned but a moment later with one arm behind his back.

 

She raised an eyebrow. _Alluring_.

 

“Ta da!” He presented her with a small plush lion, remarkably identical to a young cub by the name of Simba.

 

“Yay!” She squealed, her trademark din of excitement. And then she did the strangest thing he’d ever seen, swear on his ancestors’ graves; she held the stuffed animal high above her head in the air, almost triumphantly?

 

“Get it?” Her words came out giddy and breathless, like this was the most fun she’d had in a long while. ‘Is this a ritual?’ he wondered; ‘did I accidentally propose, or something?’

 

Meryl’s eyes glared accusingly with understanding. “You don’t, because your research didn’t go into _only the most iconic Disney scene of all time_ , right?”

 

Sheepishly, he nodded, aiming to appeal to her (always). Her expression softened. “Don’t you worry, we are _so_ going on a Lion King spree.”

 

He gulped. “How many are there, exactly?”

 

“Oh, you know…just the three. One, one-and-a-half, and two. But! One cannot forget the bonus features.”

 

“Heaven forbid Mr. Walt Disney rolls in his grave,” Maks responded drily. Meryl set the lion down carefully on the floor and pecked his cheek. “Thank you for my lion,” she whispered, “you’re sweet.”

 

“Not what I was going for, but OK.”

 

“Admit it! Really, after all that we’ve been through? Today, this week? Just say it. State your intentions loud and clear, you big teddy bear.”

 

“Fine. I like you. Just a little bit though. I want you to have something you like that reminds you of me. There, are you happy now?”

 

“Very—“ she started, but he cut her off in disbelieving rage.

 

“This teddy bear you are so fond of relating me to…this is a pet name, no?”

 

“Goodnight, Maks. Simba and I will see you in the morning.”

 

“Samba? We’re done with samba. Is your head okay? This is jive and waltz, baby.”

 

She just smiled wanly and repeated herself, “Simba. Goodnight, Maks,” leaving him only slightly emasculated and pondering a lion’s motivations to samba. “I think you mean The Jungle Book,” he called after her, but it was useless.

 

‘That girl,’ he thought, ‘is a lion. Or she roars as loud as one, at least. They tell me she’s timid, they tell me this will be an easy win…it certainly won’t be with her need to be the tough guy.’ Oblivious to any perceptible parallels, he flicked the lights off and walked out of the studio. He’d call her in the morning, just to see how the lion was doing. Her, he couldn’t care less about, he told himself. It’s not like she was turning him inside out.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for reading, and comments with any sort of feedback would be so delightful! How I squeezed three chapters out of possible jokes from one movie, I'll never know, but it's Disney...so anything's possible :) [There are also about a thousand other references in here, ranging from M&M interviews to a song very close to home. I should disclaim; I own nothing, and all references are out of complete respect.]

**Author's Note:**

> Still not sure where this came from, but I hope somebody out there enjoys it! I have much, much more Maksyl to come because THAT FINAL EPISODE WAS GOLD. Still trying to savor the moment before I take a page out of Meryl's book and analyze it to death...


End file.
